


Scars

by Artistic_Blue_Eyes



Series: Magpie and the Tiger [1]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Fake Character Death, M/M, Minor Violence, POV Sebastian Moran, Post-Reichenbach, References to Drugs, Suicidal Thoughts, Suicide Attempt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-09
Updated: 2014-12-09
Packaged: 2018-02-28 20:30:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,231
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2745980
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Artistic_Blue_Eyes/pseuds/Artistic_Blue_Eyes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Pain was something Sebastian Moran could deal with”-Set after Reichenback Fall. What if Jim Moriarty had left behind someone too? His faithful Sniper.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Scars

**Author's Note:**

> Hey guys, this is something I came up with on the fly. I was watching an episode of Sherlock because I do adore it and I have recently been seeing Mormor stuff on Tumblr and a mixture of the two inspired me. This could possibly be a series of one-shots about Sebastian Moran and Jim Moriarty. So let’s get on with it, I don’t own Sherlock so I hope you enjoy

Pain was something Sebastian Moran could deal with, the scars that lined his body were a testament to that and it was one of the few things that made him hold his head up high. Scars were like trophies to him, each one showed its own battle that had been won, each was a sign of a mission he had survived.

He remembered one night which now seemed like a lifetime ago when Jim had traced every scar as they laid naked next to each other, their breathing calming down after their previous activities. He would always remember the soft fingers, as Jim never gets his hangs dirty, almost burning into his skin as Jim whispered, "I love your marks, the proof you've lived. I want to mark you, make you bleed and turn your skin black and blue," later on as the sun was rising above London he fulfilled his promise. 

What Sebastian hasn't realised in those moments of pure passion was that Jim's marks ran a lot deeper than his fleshy exterior. Bruises fade, cuts heal over and eventually become cold white lines covering his tanned skin.

Jim Moriarty had done what Sebastian had thought to be impossible. He had sliced his way into Sebastian's cold heart and Sebastian had only noticed once it was too late, when Jim had placed a gun between his lips, the same lips that had kissed him that morning, and pulled the trigger. 

Sebastian had watched frozen in shock, his eyes glued down the scope of the rifle as the bullet exited the back of Jim's head carrying with it bits of his brilliant brain, as he fell to the floor, blood gushed out surrounding him in a red halo almost like a symbol of the fallen angel he was.

That was two months ago now and still every time Sebastian closed his eyes he was haunted by the image of Jim laying on the roof top with a slight smile on his face as if it had all been a bit joke. His eyes staring blankly into the sky. No amount of alcohol or drugs could take away that sight. No amount of fighting and killing could possibly take away the pain.

Because usually pain was something Sebastian Moran could deal with, but this pain was as if someone had stabbed a blunt blade into his heart and twisting it at random intervals. It took away his breath and made him want to scratch out his eyes to stop the image of that cold dead body on a roof top filling his mind. He had taken to drinking until he passed out so he couldn't dream of those empty eyes and red halo, but it still didn't seem enough. If Sebastian was to really think about it, which he spent most of his time when he was sober doing then he believed Jim was like a light, burning raging fire which shone brighter than anything else in the world. He had pulled Sebastian out of the darkness, his empty life of survival, an ex-army corneal who had been dishonourably discharged where he had been wasting his life and showed him a new world, somewhere truly amazing. Now that Jim was gone it was like the fire had been put out and he had been blinded to any other light around him. Someday he wanted to hate Jim for showing him, for making him begin to fall in love, but he knew he couldn't. He also knew it was morally wrong to think of Jim as amazing, then again morals were never exactly his strong suit. And Jim...it was the anger, the coldness, the passion and strength, or it could have been the way he could smile and look completely innocent while stabbing you in the back at the same time and watching you bleed out on the floor. He could play so many parts, had so many moods, never stopping for even a second, never breaking, he made life interesting. How could anyone ever compete with that? Life seemed so unimportant now. Sebastian really did try for a while, but he couldn't get the same highs he had with his boss, the laughing and joking after a murder. No amount of drugs could give him that feeling back, the feeling he wanted to most. In the end his decision had come easier than expected, it was really the simplest thing. The only way to see Jim again would be to die. It wasn't like he hadn't thought about it before, in his line of work he needed to be realistic, snipers didn't have a long life expectancy. It wasn't the first time he had thought about suicide either, between the army and Jim he had felt an emptiness that he didn't want to wake up to anymore, now that pain was far worse. He had long ago accepted the fact he was heading straight for hell, but knowing Jim like he did the chances were that he would be king down there and wherever Jim went Sebastian had plead to follow. So two months after Jim's death Sebastian sat in a darkened alley in one of the darkest parts of London. Most of the last month and a half had been spent preparing. He had made it impossible to identify the corpse he would be leaving behind, not wanting his family to get the satisfaction of burying him themselves. Removing his dental records had been an easy job and he had filled down his finger tips to remove his finger prints when he first started working for Jim. He had removed all identifying features that he usually carried around, his neck feeling empty without the familiarity of his old dog-tags which Jim had loved so much. The cold air bit at him as he sat quietly as possible waiting for the perfect moment, the time when the nearby clock would cover up the popping sound of his silencer. When he would be found he would just be another unnamed druggy on the street. It wasn't like Sherlock was around anymore to tell them otherwise. He would be forgotten, exactly what he wanted. The bells began to chime in there steady rhyme, muting the chatter from the people in the street in front. Sebastian took a deep breath the way he always did before a kill, slowing his heart rate down until he could barely feel it. He's hand clutched onto the cold metal of the revolver running his hand over the trigger the feeling relaxing him in a way that only killing ever could. He pushed the gun into his mouth, closing his eyes as the cold metal touched lightly on his tongue. The forth chime echoed around him as he flicked off the safety and braced his finger on the trigger. "Sebby, Sebby, Sebby. What did I tell you about inflicting scars on yourself?" A familiar Irish voice spoke softly from somewhere in the alley, "That's my job." Sebastian couldn't help but open his traitorous eyes just to see if he had finally lost it completely. At the end of the alley lit up by the street lights almost looking like an angel stood a dead man in his infamous Westwood suit. Sebastian moved the gun out of his mouth to allow himself to speak, "Jim?" "Did you miss me?"

**Author's Note:**

> Okay so I hope you enjoyed this. Please review so I know whether you want more like this.  
> Until next time  
> Artistic-Blue-Eyes  
> xxx


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